The Disease Called Love
by hetalian-system
Summary: Everyone has a different opinion of love. Some call it hope, some salvation. Harry would call it a disease that effects every aspect of his life.


No one knows how love works. How it's able to sneak it's way into your brain and take it over like a disease so strong that it can make you do _anything_ it wants.

 _Even destroy yourself for perfection._

These swirling thoughts echoed in the brain of one Harry Potter, who gazed at his form in the mirror before him with disdain. The mirror was full length, providing him with a complete image of his body. Luckily for Harry, he had rid the mirror of it's speech capabilities after one too many an inappropriate remark and was left to think in silence.

 _Nearly there, I hope._

The Battle of Hogwarts left Harry's body with scars of all shapes and sizes; from the long, twisting scar circling the bottom half of his right leg, due to a particularly vicious Whipping Hex, to the small, triangular-shaped mark on his left side from falling rocks. Every scar told a story, a history, that was forever connected with his mind and soul.

 _Everytime he looks at me, he sees it too._

Harry knew Draco saw it too. The way his eyes stayed just a tad bit too long on one stretch of skin or the other. The manner in which his fingers avoided certain scars. No longer were words of praise and adoration for his body on Draco's lips.

 _This war has taken it all from me._

Fingers traveled down his rather unremarkable chest until they hit a snag. Not another scar, but perhaps the only good thing to have ever marred his body. Harry's fingers splayed over his stomach, which, nowadays, was the only part of Harry with any form of fat.

 _Not that anyone has bothered to notice my hard work._

Typical work days at the Ministry's Auror Department and time relaxing at home were both spent in robes and spells to hide his body from prying eyes. No one noticed his rapid weight changes, in either area, and he knew he had to keep it that way. There was no point in creating more Prophet articles.

 _Maybe Draco's noticed once or twice, but he's not here often enough to care._

Draco worked for the Ministry as well, but in the International Relations Division as a French Diplomat. This kept him away from home most nights, either on assignment or in the office. Harry practically had free reign of their comfortable little cottage.

 _No one even-_

Harry's thoughts were cut-off abruptly as the ripple of the wards signaled Draco's arrival home. A quick Tempus only increased Harry's confusion; it was only 2:41 in the afternoon on a Thursday.

 _Why is Draco home so early? He's never arrived before 7, not even on a special occasion!_

Wary from past experience, Harry dressed quickly and, with his wand now firmly in his hand instead of his jeans, cast a Silencing Spell on his body. His senses were on high alert as he crept from the bathroom to the connected bedroom. As a force of habit, Harry always kept his Invisibility Cloak inside his chest of drawers where it was easily grabbable. The Cloak had long outgrown his height, but he was able to be covered just barely when he stooped down.

 _Not that anyone else would bother coming close enough to me to share it. It's perfect for just me._

As Harry silently walked out of the bedroom and towards the living room, voices started to spring up from the front entryway: voices that slowly began to eat at the disease polluting Harry's brain.

"You've never brought me here, Dray-!" Breathless, pitched low enough to be identified as masculine to even an untrained ear.

"More comfortable here than in some back room, innit?" Draco's voice, slightly slurred with either sleep or drunkenness.

"Oh, yes-Ah! Oh, right there!" Moans. Definitely moans. Flames curled in Harry's stomach, but he didn't move from his position by the door frame to the living room. Luckily for him, the two men came stumbling in from the entryway and practically collapsed on the beige couch just feet before him.

 _The couch we picked out together. Our couch!_

Harry could clearly see now that Draco's- _amazing, skilled_ -fingers were rooting around in the other man's pants. Said man was writhing beneath the ministrations, sullying the couch with his mere presence. From his current angle, Harry could see that the other man had unruly, dark hair and sun-kissed skin that echoed his own like an imposter.

 _Draco isn't that stupid. He knows that isn't me, just some cheap imitation for the afternoon._

Harry's eyes drank in that sun-kissed skin though. Not one blemish, other than a couple of scattered freckles, marred his skin. Was that Draco's reasoning? Did he reject Harry for his skin alone, as that was the only obvious difference between himself and the imposter?

 _What else could have Draco like this? He hasn't been this excited in months. At least, not with me._

Turning away from the act of betrayal, Harry slipped back into the bathroom and closed the door as silently as he could. He felt blank, numb. Neither of them were perfect, except Draco, but an affair?

 _He will never know._

The next few moments passed in a blur for Harry. He remembered removing his clothes. He remembered climbing into the large, ornate bathtub Draco insisted upon when remodeling the bathroom last year. He remembered warding the door. He remembered slicing open his distended stomach without the aid of numbing spells or pain relief. He remembered a squirming, blond baby laying on the floor of the tub. He remembered laying his head back and dropping his wand, letting it slide into the growing pile of blood. He remembered hearing the moans from the other room as his consciousness started to waver.

Then he didn't remember.

* * *

"-put him...pressure-!"

"Him?! My….all night….nothing-!"

"...baby!"

Harry hadn't expected to hear voices again. Heck, he didn't expect to awaken ever again. So hearing a very loud, very angry shouting match between Hermione, Ron and Draco when he awoke was a disorienting surprise. A low noise came from his throat when he tried to move, surprising everyone into silence. A brief shuffling was heard before:

"Harry?"

Harry couldn't tell if it was Hermione or Draco that spoke, but either way he groaned again. No use pretending he wasn't awake when he could already hear healers bustling into the room. He heard two sets of footsteps scurrying around the room for nearly a minute before he could gather the strength to open his eyes. Harry closed them almost right away at the bright, white walls, but opened them again, slowly.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter. I'm Healer Dumphree. You've given us all quite the scare." Her voice was thick like honey and seemed to drip with real sweetness. "Let's sit you up, hmm?" Using a spell Harry barely saw from the corner of his eye, Dumphree sat him up slowly so he could face the room.

The room was completely white, save a blue stripe going around the walls. There was a few soft-looking chairs scattered about and, from what he could see, one had been pushed back to the floor near Ron. Hermione was near his bed-side, but obviously moved back enough for the healers to do their jobs. Harry couldn't bare to look at Draco, but he could feel his presence near the sunlit window to his left. The other healer was standing next to-

Oh.

 _It survived. They all know._

Despair pooled in Harry's gut, making him slightly nauseous. They weren't supposed to know! Harry guessed his gaze lingered too long on the other healer for Hermione spoke up again.

"It's a girl, Harry. Your baby girl." Her voice was barely over a whisper, but it held so much emotion that Harry dragged his eyes from the cot and over to her face. He almost wished he hadn't. Hermione's face was red from crying and her hair was a mess of frizz. It was obvious she had spent the night as her clothes were wrinkled and mussed.

Any further speech was delayed by the healer, who spent the next ten minutes checking over Harry's condition. He didn't pay much attention until the near end when the word "food" caught his interest.

"-enough food to gain back the weight that was lost during pregnancy."

Harry knew he wouldn't, just like he has all these months without care. He ate enough to keep the baby alive. Now, with it out of him?

"Harry." Draco's voice was cold. Harry ignored it and pretended to listen to the healer as she marked her notes down.

"Harry." Draco's voice was as sharp as a knife. The healer handed Harry some kind of pamphlets about babies and weight gain. All nonsense of course.

The second the healers left the room; Draco found his voice yet again.

"Harry James Potter! I demand to f*cking know why you even _thought_ it was alright to hide my daughter from me!" Draco faced Harry head-on, half leaning on the bed to meet his eyes. Harry didn't care much.

 _Only now does Draco seem to care._

Just when it looked like either Draco would yell again or Ron would punch him out, Harry finally spoke up.

"You can have her." Harry's voice was little more than a whisper. He cleared his throat. This needed to be done with. "You can have her. She's yours." Harry meant to sound strong and cold, but his voice came out a tired and defeated.

A small sob was heard, but Draco spoke over it. "That doesn't answer my question, Harry." His voice was still cold, but Harry could detect small hints of worry and confusion on the surface. "Why did you hide her? Why hide all of this?" Draco's hand waved across Harry's body, making him flinch.

"She's what you want, Draco. Just take her and leave." Harry was becoming more and more tired as they spoke. He just wanted to be done! He should have been already! A seed of bitterness crept up his throat. "I'm sure you'll easily find someone to help you raise her."

A hand shot out and grabbed his chin in such a tight hold Harry could swear he heard bones breaking. "Don't put the blame on me for this, Harry! You refused to sleep with me, remember? I'm not at fault here!" No, Harry actually didn't remember.

 _What does it matter? I'm not what he wants._

Hermione and Ron looked extremely confused and looked as if they would pounce on Draco, but held each other back. Harry ignored them for now. Draco was the only one who could help.

"It's my fault." The words were said like a prayer, hoping for salvation. "All of it. The scars, the baby, the affairs, everything. Just-" He raised a hand to cover the one currently bruising his chin. "Just finish it, okay? You can have her."

Draco seemed to grow less confident in his anger with Harry's willing submission. _No!_ Harry couldn't go back! Not now! Not know that they knew!

 _Desperate times call for desperate measures._

Hermione, Ron, and Draco would later recall Harry's swiftness with horror and awe. He moved as if he were in battle and every millisecond mattered. One second, Harry was alive and speaking to them. The next, he stole Draco's wand, shoved Draco away, and placed the wand to his neck.

"I love you, Draco."

Not even healers can save the victim of a cutting curse to the neck when the victim is decapitated.

* * *

No one knows how love works, but death is an even greater mystery. It seems as if it's never ending, but the truth is far greater than any living being can perceive.

Death and love are true friends, two sides of the same coin with life as its master. These thoughts were ever present in three minds riddled with despair and hopelessness. Draco held baby Lilac close to his chest, as if guarding her against the harsh reality before them. Hermione and Ron clung to one another, looking like they would topple with a gentle breeze. They stood before a gravestone that read:

 **Harry James Potter**

 **1980-2001**

 **Son, brother, friend, father**

 **Savior to us all**


End file.
